That was the question posed to me and dozens of other participants Monday during the first session of "Undivided," a six-week racial reconciliation workshop hosted by Crossroads Church in Oakley. Crossroads is one of many churches and civic organizations in Greater Cincinnati offering programs designed to bring us together and build bridges across racial, cultural and religious divides. I'd heard positive things from friends about Undivided and wanted to experience it up close and personal.

So there I sat in a circle with 11 other white, black and biracial men and women pondering the question. When did race – that ever-present part of my daily life – register in my conscience for the first time?

My thoughts went all the way back to my kindergarten class at Creekview Elementary School in Middletown, Ohio. I remembered how at playtime many of us would flock to one end of the classroom where there was this wooden car that was just big enough for two children to fit inside. The Dukes of Hazzard was an incredibly popular television show in the 1980s and a childhood favorite of mine and most of my friends. So we would pretend that wooden car was the "General Lee," the Dukes' race car and arguably the biggest star of the show.

This General Lee, with a Confederate flag on the roof, from the old TV show 'The Dukes of Hazzard' is coming up for auction(Photo: Profiles in History)

The racial undertones that accompanied the orange 1969 Dodge Charger with the Confederate battle flag emblazoned on the roof and named General Lee escaped me at that age. It was simply a cool car, driven by two of the coolest good old boys – Bo and Luke Duke.

So every school day my classmates and I would play around this car, acting out scenes from that week's episode of The Dukes of Hazzard. The boys in the class would take turns behind the wheel and in the passenger seat, pretending to be the Duke boys. (One lucky girl in the class would get to sit on the back of the car and take on the role of Daisy Duke.)

On this particular day, it was my turn to drive our wooden version of the General Lee. Right when I was about to sit in the driver's seat, a few of my white male classmates stopped me.

"You can't drive because you can't be one of the Duke boys," one of them said, as he blocked my path.

"And why not?" I asked.

"Because you're black," he said, matter of factly.

He was right. I was black and the Duke boys were white. That was obvious – at least it was to him. But up until that moment, I don't think it had quite registered with me that skin color mattered in any discernable way. Yet there I was confronted for the first time with the limitations that my DNA presented. Until then, I hadn't seen a difference between the Duke boys and myself. It was deflating and I can remember my childlike feelings of unfairness and frustration.

"Don't feel bad," said another of my white male classmates in an attempt to soften the blow. "You can pretend to be Cooter."

Cooter Davenport was the resident mechanic in Hazzard County, who was good friends of the Duke family and would always repair the General Lee when Bo and Luke would damage it after jumping over a ravine or driving through a barn. He was the least cool character on the show (next to Uncle Jesse). He also wasn't black. But I guess race didn't matter as much since Cooter was a secondary character and not one of the stars.

The group at Crossroads laughed with me as I recounted the Cooter portion of my story. It was a moment of levity among some hard truths. It was funny in almost a tragic way because it shows that even at a young age, we begin to separate and segregate ourselves based on our differences. It's sad when a young kid learns that his skin color can be an impediment to living out his dreams. That while opportunities to take on starring roles get blocked, he should be prepared and grateful to accept lesser ones as a consolation.

The common thread among all of our stories at Crossroads was the uneasiness of our racial awakenings. One white female shared her discomfort with the racist legacy of her family in the South. A young biracial woman recalled the first time she was called the N-word at school and remembered thinking, "Do people still do that?" A white male told of growing up in an all-white neighborhood and never really interacting with some one of a different race until later in life. An African-American man recounted how he wasn't allowed inside a childhood friend's house because he was black.

Those were our stories. They might sound like some of yours. If you haven't thought about your first experience with race, you should. Then ask yourself: How did that and everything you've experienced since shape your view of people who are different from you? Understanding the origins and evolution of our racial attitudes goes a long way in helping us to deal with them.

I'm not sure what became of those classmates who opened my eyes to race. (Or the Daisy Dukes of the class for that matter. There's probably a lesson about sexism in there somewhere.) We've lost touch over the years as often happens when growing into adulthood. I do know, however, that Cooter (Ben Jones) went on to serve four years in the U.S. House of Representatives after his stint on The Dukes of Hazzard, opened some restaurants/stores and still sells the Confederate flag - including one with the words "If this flag offends you, it makes my day."

It would be nice to go back to that time of racial innocence when I looked at the Duke boys no differently than myself. When they were just two cool dudes in a cool car. When race didn't matter. Maybe through the efforts of Crossroads and others, we can get back there. Together.